The front room was also the only room on the first floor. It seemed to serve as a living room, dining room, and small kitchen all at once. But everything, from the old wooden furniture to the picture frames on the mantelpiece, was covered with a layer of dust thick enough to obscure all details (like the exact color of the wood or the faces of the people in the photos). There was one small exception. The thin pink runner rug that ran from the front door to the kitchen seemed to be immaculate, as was a tiny space on the kitchen counter, which Goldenrod could now see housed the china teacups that she had once been served chocolate milk in.
The little details Goldenrod could make out through all the thick gray fuzz were odd. Crocheted shawls, black-and-white photographs, old needlepoint samplers. Everything seemed like a cliché of an old lady’s house, like things that someone with no imagination would automatically assume belonged in one.
“Hello?” Goldenrod called again, a little less certain. There was still no answer.
“I don’t think she’s here,” Birch said meekly, clearly wanting to go home.
But Goldenrod had just noticed that the pristine pink runner ended at the bottom of the staircase—which was also completely dust-free.
Without hesitation, she immediately made her way over and started to climb the stairs.
“Goldenrod …,” Birch began. She motioned for him to follow her. His face set into a severe expression of worry; he bit his lip and obeyed.
At the top of the stairs was a long hallway, off of which stood one door to either side and one door straight at the end, all of which were shut.
Goldenrod creaked straight down the hallway and to the last door. She reached for the knob.
“Goldenrod.” Birch had finally found his voice again. “Can we please just go home? Please?”
Goldenrod turned around to him. “She’s my friend, Birch. I have to warn her about No-Bone and Toe Jam.”
“Can’t you call her from home?”
“I don’t have her number.”
“But Mom …”
“Oh, Birch,” Goldenrod sighed. “I wish you were a little braver.”
Birch dropped his head but didn’t say anything.
“Let’s just make sure she’s not here, and then we’ll go, okay?”
“Fine,” Birch said.
Goldenrod turned the knob and opened the door.
It was as if she had stepped into an entirely different house. The room was large and airy. There was a beautiful snow-white carpet on the ground and a large mahogany four-poster in the middle. On the nightstand, there was a cell phone plugged into the wall.
On one side of the room was a large and handsome dresser. On the opposite wall stood a matching vanity table, which was neatly set with a wide variety of glass perfume bottles. Next to this was a sleek, shiny, and seemingly brand-new computer.
Goldenrod couldn’t help but gape. This modern, immaculately spotless bedroom seemed to have nothing in common with the rest of the house. For a moment, she even forgot what she was supposed to be doing there. She walked over to the dresser, peeked into the top drawer, and found what must have been the most neatly folded sock drawer in the history of mankind.
“She’s not here,” Birch said hopefully.
But just then, Goldenrod noticed that she was standing underneath a large square tile on the ceiling. The tile had caught her eye because hanging from it was a big and ornate brass handle.
There was no way she’d be able to reach the handle on her own, so she looked around for something to stand on. The computer chair would work just fine. She pushed it over, stood on it, and pulled on the handle. The tile swung open and down came a metal ladder with it.
What sort of explorer would see a ladder and not want to climb up it? Goldenrod’s mind very logically asked. Not this sort, she thought with just a hint of glee as she put her foot on the first rung. Besides, how was she supposed to get to the bottom of the mystery of the old lady if she didn’t gather every clue that she could find?
23
THE ATTIC
Birch looked on, horrified.
“It’s an attic.” Goldenrod sounded delighted as she started to climb up the ladder.
She had just poked her head past the ceiling when Birch immediately heard her give a sharp intake of breath. “Whoa!” she said.
“What?” Birch asked, afraid of the answer.
“You have to come see this,” she said as she stepped all the way up the ladder and disappeared into the ceiling door.
Birch really didn’t want to go up the ladder. But, at that moment, he decided to try very hard to grant his older sister’s wish that he be braver. After all, he couldn’t expect her to include him in her activities if he couldn’t even act courageous in the face of an attic. With a sigh, he cautiously made his way over to the middle of the room, stepped onto the chair, and then onto the first rung. He had never been on a ladder before, and it wasn’t such a pleasant experience. Still, slowly, he made his way up.
He didn’t stop looking at the rungs until he had his feet on solid ground again. Only then was he able to take in where he was and give the same sharp intake of breath he had heard from Goldenrod.
The room was absolutely crammed with stuff—some of it protected by plastic bags, some things large, some things smaller, but almost all of it shiny. There were very few things in the room that didn’t look like they were made out of gold or silver: trophies, goblets, large scrolled mirrors, sets of silverware.
Birch walked over to Goldenrod, who was examining a silver mirror closely. At first, he thought she was frowning at the green and brown makeup that was still on her face and now streaked with little rivulets of sweat. But then he realized that it was actually the back of the mirror that she was staring at. “What is all this?” he asked her.
Goldenrod looked up at Birch, seeming troubled. “I don’t know,” she said. “But look at this.”
She showed him an engraved design on the back of the mirror. It looked like a shield and had two crossed telescopes and some sort of bird on it. A banner across the bird’s tail spelled out the word “Lewis.”
“What is that?” Birch asked.
“It’s Randy Lewis-O’Malley’s family crest. I’ve seen it before on his backpack. And it seems to be on a lot of things around here …” She looked at all the shiny engraved items surrounding them.
“Who’s Randy Lewis-O’Malley?” Birch asked.
“Toe Jam,” Goldenrod said slowly. “So what is she doing with all of his family’s stuff?”
But just then, Goldenrod’s eyes widened in shock. Birch watched as she walked, almost as if in a trance, toward what was probably the dullest thing in the room: a small, framed and dusty illustration of a bird, labeled in someone’s old-fashioned handwriting. Goldenrod picked it up, stared at it, and muttered, “I don’t believe it …”
“What?” Birch asked, going over to see the drawing closer.
It looked like the same bird that appeared on Toe Jam’s family crest, but he couldn’t see what was so special about it.
“This is his woodpecker. Meriwether Lewis’s. Look!” Goldenrod pointed to the crammed handwriting, which did, indeed, say “Lewis’s Woodpecker (Melanerpes lewis), Discovered 1804 by M.L. & W.C.”
“But then that means … Randy Lewis-O’Malley is related to him?!” Goldenrod looked positively distraught.
“Who’s Meriwether Lewis?” Birch asked.
Unfortunately, Goldenrod didn’t have time to answer, as right then they heard someone opening the front door.
Goldenrod looked up from the picture to see Birch staring at her with a horrified expression. She knew this was exactly the kind of thing he was afraid would happen as soon as he had followed her up the stairs. For once, she almost wished she had allowed his sense of caution to stop her from being so thorough with her explorations. But it was too late now.
As fascinating and slightly horrifying as it was to have discovered what kind of relations Meriwether Lewis had
left behind, Goldenrod realized this was not the time to ponder too heavily on it.
She carefully set the picture down, then put her finger to her lips and mouthed a “shhhh …” As slowly as she possibly could, she tiptoed toward the ladder and tried to pull it up. It was much heavier than she had expected.
Downstairs, she could hear creaks as someone made their way up the staircase. She heard that someone humming an old-fashioned song, one that she had heard tinkled in every ballerina music box known to man.
It was the old lady. Although just five minutes ago Goldenrod had been hoping they would meet so that she could warn her, now she was a bit disturbed by everything she had seen. What was she doing with all of Randy’s stuff? And how come her house was so weird?
She decided the best thing to do would be to hide in the attic—at least until she could come up with a better plan. She motioned for Birch to help her with the ladder.
His tiny muscles weren’t a huge boost but—combined with the sheer Moram determination—they were enough to finally heave the ladder up and shut the tile door behind it. Miraculously, this did not make nearly as much noise as Goldenrod had feared it would, the door closing with a muted thud as they were almost thrown back with the momentum of it.
They panted as footsteps walked up the hallway and to the bedroom door.
“Oh, my, my. I left the bedroom door open? Perhaps Edward is right about me,” they heard the old lady mutter and then laugh lightly to herself.
She entered the bedroom and started to shuffle around in it.
Birch was biting his lower lip and looking down at the floor, as if by doing so he could actually see what the old lady was up to, and Goldenrod found herself wishing that they both could. She carefully scooted over to Birch and put one arm around his shoulder. He looked up at her, and she tried her best to smile with confidence, even though she clearly had no idea what she was doing.
From the bedroom, they heard the sound of the computer being turned on.
The old lady continued to sing. She had now moved on to an operatic rendition of a pop song that had recently hit the radio and featured the lyrics, “Go round and round like the wheels on the bus. Shake it like you’re a tot in Toys‘R’Us.”
Just as soon as the old lady had finished the verse, Goldenrod heard the real song start up. She was confused until she heard the old lady say, “Hello?” and realized that the song must also be the old lady’s ringtone.
There was a pause and then the old lady gave a loud sigh. “Not the coin!”
There was another pause.
“Eight hundred dollars? Are you serious?” They could hear the old lady tapping away in annoyance on her computer keys. “No, no. Of course I want it,” she said irritably. “That boy has no sense of history.” Another pause, and then the old lady said coldly, “Thank you, Barnes. Disciplinary advice from you is always refreshing. Just hold it until tomorrow. I’ll be there to pick it up then.”
Goldenrod and Birch both looked at each other, Goldenrod now even more disturbed than before. Clearly whatever was going on in the woods, the old lady had some part in it.
The thing was, if Meriwether Lewis was a ghost haunting the woods, and if the old lady was up here holding all of his stuff … maybe Goldenrod’s original thoughts when she had met the old lady were right and she was a witch. After all, if there could be ghosts, who says there couldn’t be witches? And maybe somehow she was responsible for conjuring Meriwether up. Or even trapping him in the forest to begin with.
Goldenrod swallowed hard. It couldn’t be, though. She had liked the old lady so much. She’d been so nice to Goldenrod and told her all about the blue rose and sent her on a quest. A quest that, she reminded herself, technically would free Meriwether’s spirit. On the other hand, the quest had proven to be quite dangerous, and maybe that wasn’t such a good thing after all.
As she was pondering this latest mystery, suddenly she heard the sound of the front door being opened once more.
The old lady became very quiet beneath them, and Goldenrod and Birch strained to hear the new intruders.
At first they couldn’t make out much, but then came the unmistakable voice of No-Bone.
“Why are you whispering?” he boomed as he made his way up the stairs.
“She might be home,” trailed Toe Jam’s much quieter voice.
“So … what, you and I can’t take on a hundred-year-old lady?”
With horror, Goldenrod suddenly noticed that the ladder that was lying flat in front of them was quickly slipping away. Down, down, down it went as the ceiling tile opened once more.
Step-by-step, the old lady climbed up it with a speed and agility that was surprising for someone of her age. She only looked up when she had reached the top.
She had to cover her mouth so as not to cry out, looking startled by the unexpected presence of an oddly colored Goldenrod and a small boy who was cowering into her arm.
24
TO GRANDMOTHER’S HOUSE WE GO
Goldenrod gave a wan smile. “Um, hi,” she whispered awkwardly.
The old lady took her hand down from her mouth.
Goldenrod didn’t know what to say or even how to react. An hour ago, she had been sure the old lady was her friend, and then a minute ago, she had been contemplating the possibilities of her being a witch. Although the more she looked into the familiar, though still rather ugly, eyes of the old woman, the more she remembered her own more positive feelings. With Birch pressed against her, Goldenrod could only think of one thing to say in the midst of her confusion. “This is my brother, Birch.”
Before the old lady could respond, the creaking from downstairs reminded them all where they were.
“We need to look for something heavy,” the old lady said, and then proceeded to carefully examine the heaps of shiny objects that were all around them.
Goldenrod felt guilty about being found in the old lady’s attic this way and started to look around too. There were lots of heavy metal things, including many trophies, and then a few random things also—like a very old baseball and some sort of dusty black cape.
“Never mind,” the old lady finally whispered. “I think I found the perfect thing.” She was holding an enormous gold trophy in her left hand as if it were featherlight. Birch looked up at her in wonder.
“Uncle Stewie’s Kentucky Derby trophy. Never much liked the old man. He used to give me hard candy as a birthday present.” She rolled her eyes and then, noticing Birch’s awe-filled expression, she added, “Don’t worry, kid. I was a champion shot-putter. In fact, those are my Olympic gold medals just behind you.”
As Birch turned around to look, they suddenly heard a great deal of noise coming from downstairs. It sounded as if someone was tearing the old lady’s bed apart.
“Your mattress. They think you’re hiding a wad of cash under it,” Goldenrod whispered urgently, only then remembering what she was doing there to begin with.
“What do they think this is … the twentieth century?” the old lady asked as she shook her head. “Well, come on, then.”
Quietly she crept over to the door in the floor, grabbing the old dirt-and-ink-smeared baseball in her other hand as she passed by. “Hold that ladder while I open the door,” she whispered to Goldenrod.
Goldenrod did as she was told. As the old lady quietly inched the door open, Goldenrod fed the ladder to her so that when it finally hit the ground, it did so with barely a small bump. And as Toe Jam and No-Bone were deep in the middle of a loud discussion about why on earth someone would take the time to fold their sheets under the mattress, they didn’t hear the old lady tiptoe down the ladder (in a surprising display of dexterity considering that she had both of her hands full), until she stood in front of them and yelled, “Freeze, you good-for-nothing scoundrels.”
At first, No-Bone and Toe Jam looked, of course, completely startled. But as soon as No-Bone saw the old lady ridiculously holding a trophy and an old baseball, he started to laugh. “Freeze …
or … or what?” He was laughing so hard it was difficult to get the words out.
Suddenly there was a flash of white, and No-Bone stopped laughing almost immediately. He doubled over (or in his case, quadrupled over), screaming, and dropped the quilt he had been holding up. The old lady had thrown the baseball, hard, and it had hit him in his elbow.
“That’s the strength of the 1927 Yankees for you,” the old lady said drily. “And you!” She turned suddenly to Toe Jam. “Don’t think I won’t sacrifice your Great-Great-Uncle Stewie’s trophy to teach you a lesson, you ungrateful piece of toe jam.”
Toe Jam’s jaw opened so wide that Goldenrod, perched high above with her head poking out to catch all the action, could actually see all the way to his molars.
“Grandma…,” he finally managed to breathe out.
“Don’t you Grandma me, Randall. I know every single thing you’ve been up to. And I’ve been stupid to sit idly by and think you’d be smart enough to get yourself out of it.”
Up on their perch, Goldenrod and Birch stared at each other, both of their mouths now also hanging open at the bizarre turns of events.
“And how dare you sell off all the family heirlooms to finance your little hooligan enterprise? Do you have any idea what these things are worth? And I don’t mean in cash but in sentimental value?” the old lady continued to yell.
“No one at home has missed them…,” Toe Jam answered sheepishly.
“Well, of course not. I don’t expect that self-absorbed son of mine and that society wife of his to notice anything. They’re too busy tanning and trying to one-up the other country club morons to even realize that they have a son they haven’t paid attention to in years.”
Randy was stunned into silence. No-Bone, who was still rubbing his sore elbow, seemed to have little to contribute to the conversation either, although he looked just as mesmerized by the turn of events as Goldenrod and Birch were. So much so, that his spine finally seemed to be frozen into one position.
The Mapmaker and the Ghost Page 10